


The Final Chance

by PandoraButler



Series: Sherlock One-Shots [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Freeform, Season/Series 04, alternate version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-03 03:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12740022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraButler/pseuds/PandoraButler
Summary: This is just an alternate version of the scenes where Eurus plays a game with Sherlock, Mycroft, and John.





	The Final Chance

Molly Hooper.

**Molly Hooper.**

_Molly Hooper._

Why did it have to be Molly? Out of all of the people that Sherlock knew, why did it have to be her?  _Why_? Sherlock understood those three words held more weight to them. He understood, better than anyone else, how difficult it would be to say the simple 'I love you.' Yes, Sherlock was a high-functioning sociopath, yes, he was an arse, yes, that was all true; however, there are some people too precious for this world, too  _innocent_. Molly, is one of those people. Sherlock hated the fact that he needed to put such a precious child at risk during his Reichenbach scheme and now, again, simply because Molly knew this man, she was put into danger.

Or so it seemed.

When he heard those words from Eurus's mouth, that Molly  _hadn't_   _even_   _been_  in any danger at all, something inside Sherlock snapped. Something within himself broke. That careful wall that he had built, to protect his heart from feeling again. That careful shell he'd crafted, broke, releasing all of his rage into the world.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't right.

Sherlock couldn't stop himself, he had to destroy something,  _had_  to let this rage out somehow. If he let it control him more than this, no one could say what might happen next.

Smashing the only thing he could, destroying the only thing available to him, the coffin. He himself wasn't aware of the faces staring at him. He himself wasn't aware of how crazy he seemed. It didn't matter to him, there was nothing he could do to turn back the clock, to make things right. Eurus had already allowed him to go into the next room 'in his own time' well, what if he didn't want to? What if he never went into that room? Never completed the riddles, problems,  _the games_.

Sherlock had known from the very beginning, that he would have to make the choice. He would have to choose whether to kill John or Mycroft. It was obvious, from the set up of the first 'game.' The impossible decision, to choose who to live and who to die. Sherlock didn't want to make that choice. He didn't want to go through another terror like the one he'd just experienced.

There was no going around this.

He could sit here, forever against this wall, avoiding the problem, but that wouldn't change anything. Eurus always had the opportunity to change her mind too. To make things even worse for him.

He might as well go.

Might as well choose.

For who is to say that he cannot choose himself?

He had done it before, he could do it again. It was weird this time, unlike the rest, there was no back up plan, no way to return. If Sherlock shot himself, he would die, was there an afterlife? Well, Sherlock didn't believe in God so why should he believe in life after death? It seemed a bit odd to him, but he would find out soon enough.

"Soldiers?" John outstretched his hand, seeing that Sherlock had calmed down a bit. Sherlock didn't wish to accept it, but he had to. He had to face the reality of this situation. He had to make a choice, the same choice he had  _always_ made.

To save John's life.

To help John live.

What he didn't realize, is that John's life was  _him_...

Without Sherlock, John was only a sad man suffering from the wounds he'd gathered in war. There was nothing to him. He wasn't even a  _good_  man. He had already lost Sherlock once and he had even lost Mary, the very woman that had helped him recover.

John didn't just want Sherlock, he  _needed_  him, just as much as the detective needed John. The two were made for each other. Two halves of the same whole. They truly did  _complete_ one another. Opposites attract, but where they actually opposites? Some would say they are; however, they both are men suffering from their own created prisons. Two individuals living for the sole purpose of another.

Sherlock stared at the gun in his hands, it wasn't cold anymore, it was warm, because of the length of time he had to hold it. Was Moriarty's gun this warm? Sherlock found that hard to believe, but the man  _was_ human, in a sense, even with his delusions. The detective stood, thinking it over silently. He had to at least pretend that this wasn't the first thing that popped into his mind.

Mycroft spoke his mind, as if he was a god. Sherlock's brother was always like this, telling him what to do. He must've known that Sherlock would never shoot John, even if that was what John wanted. It was ridiculous. Preposterous. Insane. It was completely unlike him. Sherlock had known this man all of his life, naturally he would know when Mycroft was being fake. It wasn't like it was easy to tell, no, it was more of just it felt  _off_.

The worst part of it was that John bought into it, that he accepted this as his fate, that he actually would dare to tell Sherlock it made sense. How could he assume his life was that easy to take? What kind of nonsense was this? It frustrated Sherlock, infuriated him, enough so that he would point the gun at his own brother. However, he already decided what he would do, he had already known he wouldn't shoot either of them.

The third option.

Sherlock pointed the gun to his own head, under his chin, he held it with both hands and began his countdown.

10.

9.

8.

7.

6.

5.

4.

Before he had finished saying the number three, John ran and jumped on top of him, yelling at the top of his lungs. He screamed, grunted, lying on top of Sherlock with his hands around Sherlock's neck, he glared at the detective.

"Is this what you want, yeah? You want to die,  _hmm_? Sherlock? You're always doing this. For once in your God forsaken life  _think._ "

Sherlock stared into the eyes of John, confused, shaken. Why did it turn out like this? His death was supposed to be the simple way out. Now, he was stuck, not with a suicide but with his beloved friend, he had essentially forced John to kill him. He wouldn't actually do it, would he? Maybe it would be better if he had. If John  _did_  kill him.

John removed his hands from Sherlock's neck. He slid the gun away, to assure that the stupid thing wouldn't tempt either of them.

"Sherlock,  _Sherlock_ ," John repeated, he kept saying the name, waiting for the right words to uncover themselves, "I, yes,  _I_  have gone through that before. You dying. You remember. I know you do. But, you dared try to kill yourself again. How many times?  _Sherlock_? How many times must you nearly die? Before you realize the value of your life?"

"That's rich, coming from you. You would have done the same," Sherlock retorted, "don't act like you wouldn't have. We both, you and I, we would rather  _die,_ John. We would rather die, then to live without each other."

_Tic tock. Tic tock. Tic tic tic tock._

Moriarty's recording shattered the silence that would have been there. Eurus watched, as the plan became to bear its fruit. Those 5 minutes, unsupervised, were all for this.

For the confession.

Her brother dear, her darling Sherlock. The middle child, the only one she really cared about, need some  _help_  if you'd like to say that. He needed help, because he felt he didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve John. Not after what he'd done. Not after he had killed John's wife. But he hadn't killed her, that wasn't in his control.

She had tried, to prove that to him.

With this 'experiment.'

If it wasn't Mary it would have been some other stupid reason. Eurus didn't care, she knew  _something_ would have gotten in the way. These two men, loved to play victim. She had to fix that.

Sometimes, life doesn't work the way we wish. Hard choices come, scenarios happen. Some things, no matter how hard we try, how hard we want to change them, they cannot be undone.

And that's fine.

Because that just proves, that we are living.

"John, I," Sherlock closed his eyes, fighting back the regrets. It was time he told John. It was time, "I made the biggest mistake of my life, letting you think I was dead. I thought, that even without me with you, you'd never replace me. But you did, I should have told you this regardless. I should have told you, on that rooftop, instead of waiting till I came back. I deeply regret it, but you need to know...at some point..."

"I love you."

"What?" Sherlock blinked, did he hear that right?

"I love you," John repeated, "even with Mary, I still loved  _you_. I felt guilty. I tried to hide it, but, I couldn't. It just lead me to another one, another escape route. But I can't escape you, Sherlock. I can't. I've tried, but we all know, everyone could tell, I love you," John said.

Cheering noises came through the speakers. The door opened, Jim Moriarty walked through, clapping. He laughed and smiled, so proud of all his (with assistance from Eurus) hard work, "it's about bloody time!"

"Y-you're alive?" Sherlock, John, even Mycroft, all said that at the same time.

Jim looked down then back up, "uhm, yeah, last time I checked."

"You shot yourself in the head how is that possible?!" Sherlock pushed John off and ran to Jim, walking around him, confused, checking to see if this was some illusion.

"I can't tell you  _all_ my secrets. Sherlock, honey, get with the program. Just expect the unexpected," Jim grinned, " so, can I help plan the wedding?" he asked.

Sherlock and John looked to each other and shrugged.

Why the hell not?


End file.
